


Queer

by VioletHellfire



Category: Sean McLoughlin - Fandom, Septiplier - Fandom, jacksepticeye, mark fischbach - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: AU, M/M, lap dance, stripper!mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5499641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHellfire/pseuds/VioletHellfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're imperfect, and you're wired for struggle,<br/>but you are worthy of love and belonging."</p><p>--Brene Brown</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queer

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't normally write sexy. This is only the second time I've tried to do so, and, honestly, I'm not totally satisfied with it. I may come back to this and tweak things here and there at a later date, but, for now, just...take it. :P
> 
> And, um....apologies to the actual Mark and Sean. I love and respect you guys lots, but, this idea simply wouldn't leave me alone.  
> Forgiveness, please. >.>

Jack took one last look at the flashing images on the television before turning it off, letting his head roll back onto the top of the sofa.

 

He sighed with a heavy exhale, letting the tension that had built up in his stomach find a somewhat pressurized release. It had happened again. This time, just two towns over from where he lived. More violence. More hate. He couldn't wrap his head around why someone would go out of their way just to do something like that, let alone whole groups of people. But they had. And this time, one of their victims was in the hospital, under critical condition.

 

Jack felt a flush of misery flood his body as he sat. Lots of people felt the same way as they did. Most just tried to protest or be vocal about it, but he was almost sure that somewhere, out there, there were others who were cheering these people on. Was it so bad? Was affection towards another human being, even of the same sex, such a horrible thing? Was it a crime to just simply...want to be yourself?

 

He sat up, and smeared his hands over his face. No. This wasn't right. He couldn't let others take control over his life, even in the smallest amounts. He wouldn't let them.

 

He needed some air. He suddenly felt stifled in his little apartment. Part of him knew that it was potentially dangerous to go outside these days, but that ever-present stubborn part of himself said to hell with it. What were the odds, on a night like this, in a town as big as his, that he could be singled out like that? It was just a small walk he wanted, not a date or a gay pride flotilla.

 

Grabbing his hoodie and iPod, he headed outside.

 

Once out, he felt the cold, winter air hit his lungs, curling around his cheeks and pricking parts of his face a faint red. He knew he should of worn more than what he took and the clothes on his back, but, the bite from the frosty wind actually felt good, and it helped to focus his thoughts. He popped his earbuds in, and briskly walked in a random direction, letting the music take him and guide him wherever it may lead him.

 

He kept at it for about a half hour, maybe longer, mentally chewing over this or that, letting the shuffle option flavor the internal story in his head. Occasionally, he'd look up, taking note of where he was going, or of landmarks that dotted his surroundings so he knew how to get home. But Jack was too engrossed within himself to realize he hadn't done so in a while. He popped his head up, and tried to look for a street sign or a notable feature, anything to help map out where he was.

 

Only...he didn't see any. The street currently in front of him looked partially abandoned, and the signs had looked long neglected, any lettering on them faded into nothing. He could see a toll bridge way in the distance, but, he had no reference point for it. Where was he? And how did he end up here so quickly?

 

He heard laughter in the distance in between songs, so he hastily pulled the earbuds out and turned everything off. He took a few steps toward the sound, as it bounced off of the tall buildings and alleys, hoping to catch whomever it was and perhaps ask for directions. He could hear an animated conversation coming closer, slurred speech being passed back and forth between...four people, he guessed, and paused before walking any further. He didn't know why, but, suddenly he felt the need to stay in between the streetlights, and remain partially hidden.

 

"...an' that's why I _punched_ tha stupid fucker!" A roar of mirth bellowed from behind the first voice, claps and guffaws loud enough to wake the dead. Jack stiffened slightly and backed up a few feet, as the small hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end.

 

The group came into view, under a flickering yellowed bulb. He saw their nearly bald heads, and their deconstructed military jackets, and noticed the way their new-leather boots shone under the haloed glow from above. The tattoos they all shared looked faded and worn, and their eyes looked furrowed and fierce.

 

Jack took a sharp breath in. It was them. It was the same people featured on the news earlier. He had to get out of there, he knew, and he had to get out of there fast.

 

His head darted from side to side, looking for an answer. He figured if he turned back to walk away, they might see him anyway, so hiding was the next best option. None of the places that lined the area he was currently in, house or store, seemed open or even operational, and he knew better than to back himself up in one of the small gaps between buildings. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a bar's muted neon sputtering in and out of life, and decided right then and there, that that was the best choice he had at the moment. Cautiously, he quickly crossed over to the other side of the tiny street, shoulders slumped, head pointed downward, as he made his way and slipped inside.

 

He closed the door behind himself, not waiting for the backswing or gravity to do it for him, and leaned against it's heavy frame. As the warmth from the room hit his face, he exhaled, letting the last bite from outside drift wavering from his lungs.

 

"Hey there, sweetie!" said a chirpy nasal voice, "Welcome to The Ballroom! Can I see some ID?"

 

Jack blinked hard for a second before his eyes adjusted to the odd lighting where he stood. It was bright, but not harshly so, and every fixture above seemed like it was outfitted with a red or pink light, much like how he'd imagine a photographer's dark room would look. To his left stood where the voice came from, dressed in a very Jackie Kennedy-esque pink dress topped with an Alice in Wonderland bob, crowning a face that had a jaw that was angular and strong. Jack aimlessly dug in his back pocket as he approached, handing his card over to arms that were long and robust.

 

"Ah. Welcome, Mr. McLoughlin!" the voice said, handing his ID back with a smile, "Tonight is Thirsty Thursday, so most anything at the bar is half price, save for the imported stuff. And just a reminder, we close at 3 AM, so try to get your fill between now and then, ok? Enjoy!"

 

Jack nodded, knowing full well he probably wasn't going to be here for more than he had to be, a half hour or so tops. Just enough time, he figured, for the goons outside to get wherever they're going. He politely smiled back as he walked past, jeans brushing against the useless velvet rope that separated the foyer from the rest of the place.

 

Inside, it was more dimly lit. There was a ring of soft canary colored light hovering just above the bar area to the right, but the majority of what was lit and what he could see came from the area just a little beyond that, a small stage with a catwalk extending from the middle, stopping at a rounded platform at the end, with a worn gold pole in the middle extending to the ceiling.

 

"Christ..." he muttered, internally rolling his eyes. Of all the places that could of been his salvation tonight, fate had handed him a stripclub.

 

He made his way to the bar. He knew for damn sure he wasn't going to be stuffing bills into some random girl's G-string.

 

As he got close enough to where the bar sat, he paused and groaned a little in frustration. Every stool surrounding the island was taken, and none of it's occupants seemed like they were in any mood to move.

 

"Teeeeeeen minutes until showtime!" he heard a voice say over the PA system.

 

 _Good_ , he thought. Someone is bound to move away within that time, right? That's what everyone was here for...the shows. And from what he could see, there were plenty of chairs down in front. He took the $20 he had in his front pocket and weaseled his way in between stools, waving it slightly to get the tender's attention.

 

Minutes passed, and nothing changed. The people on his left kept on with whatever it was they were talking about, and the people to his right looked like a combination of sad and tired. Jack wasn't entirely sure the man at the end even had a pulse anymore. The tender looked on with sympathetic eyes and shrugged, as if she half understood why he was even ponied up there in the first place, as she poured another beer from the tap nearby. He raised his glass to sip what he had left of his whiskey, only to get elbowed from behind, knocking the glass partially from his hand, splashing a bit on the guy half asleep near his arm. The man sat up suddenly, letting a loud sickly burp erupt from his throat, eyes red rimmed and questionable.

 

The tables by the stage suddenly seemed a lot better now. He reasoned, that if he sat there, all he needed to do was pretend to be asleep, and then maybe he might get left alone then. Cant really dance for someone who isn't really there, right? He ordered another whiskey on the rocks, left a few bills on the counter, and turned to find somewhere to hide for the rest of the time he had left.

 

Somehow, within that short span that he wasn't looking, the place filled up rather quickly. Where had all these people come from? He spied one lone table down near where the circle stage was, and sighed. It seemed like it was the only place left. He darted his head back towards the bar, and couldn't even see the mirrored wall behind it now, only a cloud of heads and hats. Jack looked at the phone in his pocket...it wasn't time yet.

 

He sat at the tiny table down front, and immediately plunked his head down in between his folded arms, barely leaving enough room for the small melting glass he had brought over. Keeping his eyes half lidded and just above his sleeves, he made a plan to take sips whenever the performer had her back turned. Then, he could just slip out when she was done, and go about his merry little way. It was the best plan that he could think of, and for now, it would have to do.

 

Soon enough, the lights on the stage changed, flicking from the clean white to a daybreak yellow, as a heavy, hip swing type of music started to play and vibrate roughly over one of the subwoofers. He could feel the music pulse down in his chest and to his toes, as the audience began to stir, the semi electric calm before the storm clinging to the air around him. 

 

"Dear patrons of The Ballroom..." the same voice from before boomed out to the crowd, "...may I present to you....the man with enough lumber to fill anyone's yard... _The Woodsman_!"

 

" _Man_...?" Jack whispered to himself, not knowing if he actually heard the PA announcer correctly over all the whistles and catcalls. The table just adjacent to his tried to start some sort of slap chant by pounding on the flimsy black wood top as hard as they could, losing tempo with each strike. A few others around had tried to join in, but it all died down the second the music changed pitch.

 

Filled with curiosity, Jack perked his head up. The curtain parted slightly down the middle as a shiny prop axe came into view, twirling and swinging with just a lone hand behind it. It was soon followed by a leg, covered in an all-American denim, tapered at the end by a red sock and tan work boot. A few more one handed flips of the faux axe from whomever was behind the velvety black sheet, and the lights went dark again. The sound of fresh boot on linoleum echoed in the silence that followed.

 

With a blinding flash, the lights came on again, as a man stood there, axe over shoulder, foot on a prop tree stump, facetiously scanning over the crowd ahead of him. His hand came up with a flourish, shading his eyes from the glow above. Jacks mouth fell open slightly. Not only did the night take him to a stripclub, but it took him to a _male_ stripclub.

 

 _Wonderful_.

 

The audience, which was almost exclusively male from what he could see, went livid. Jack could barely make out the music or even his own thoughts as the place nearly exploded with noise, most of it just an amplified version from before, but some now came in the form of lewd suggestions or calls of adoration. The performer stuck the axe that had been resting over his arm into the stump, dramatically wiping his brow, as if he had just come off from a long day at work.

 

He regarded the audience with a slick grin, fingers gently brushing against the flat white buttons that sat atop of his red and black flannel, hips slightly swaying as he did. He undid the first button with a little pop, and followed that with the one just underneath it, letting everyone get a tiny peek of what was to come before languidly strutting his way over to the center island stage.

 

Jack's brain stuttered as the Woodsman got closer to where he sat. He didn't know what it was about the man he was currently staring at, but whatever it was, it held his attention like nothing ever had before. Briefly, he considered leaving just based on that alone, but his legs had refused to even acknowledge such a notion. He sat back in his chair, struck dumb, toying absently with the rim of his glass.

 

The man on stage stopped just ahead of the pole, to the left of where Jack was currently sat. Already a small flutter of ones made it to where he stood, tall and proud, as one hand gently roamed his body and the other ran fingers through his slick black hair. His mouth parted slightly as he leaned back, sliding slightly and ever so slowly up and down the shiny metal mast, hips still rocking to and fro in lazy circles.

 

Jack could feel a faint flush rise to his cheeks as he watched. The man hadn't taken a single piece of clothing off, but he somehow still felt just a bit dirty looking on.

 

The Woodsman stood, fingers teasing the spaces in between the few buttons that were left. One by one, and as casually as he could, they came undone, leaving the fabric to open by gravity alone. His chest shone under the lights hitting his tawny complexion from all angles, accentuating every movement he made with the glow of nearly wet looking skin. Effortlessly, he slid the shirt off, giving it a twirl before it landed several feet behind him, exposing his smooth, toned upper torso. One arm reached behind him from the top, gripping the pole, as his head lolled to the side, eyes closed, bottom lip between his teeth. The other arm stood cocked at his side, as his hand danced across the fly of his jeans, thumb toying with the tiny brass fastener.

 

Jack swallowed, feeling his mouth suddenly dry. He found that he couldn't look away, even if he had tried to at this point, falling hard under the hypnosis of the dancer on stage. He couldn't rationalize it by any means...the one or two times he was in a place like this before, nothing had ever stolen his focus quite like...well, like _this_. And he was beginning to get a little antsy at the idea.

 

The man on stage thrust his hips out with an accent, as the top of his denim came undone, finger sliding down with the zipper tooth by tooth. Slowly, he inched the jeans off of his hips bit by bit, but not really far enough to give too much away. He swiveled back and forth with a little more motion now, legs partially parted and hands hooked on either side, pulling at the belt loops as another flash of bills fell like confetti around his feet.

 

He gripped the faded fixture behind him, as he slowly sank, sitting squat with his knees pointed outward and off the ground. The man on stage rocked with baited movement against the pole, taunting, circling, as his mouth crooked into a sinful smile. He crawled down his middle and legs with gentle caresses, before grabbing the fabric just above his ankles, eyes hooded.

 

With a swift flick of either arm, and with the sudden breaking sound of ripping Velcro, he tore his pants off as he stood. Underneath, an oh-so miniaturized version of the denim was on display, revealing a small, but bluntly distended evergreen sewn on the front, in brilliant shades of shamrock and bronze.

 

The crowd roared with approval. Jack was knocked on either side as people stood to cheer the dancer on, the sounds they made overpowering anything else in the room. It was deafening, but he couldn't hear anything over the sudden quickening of his pulse, thrumming with a sudden rush to places far away from his head.

 

The Woodsman took the denim into both hands and threaded it between both legs, languidly rocking his hips with accented upswings, as he shifted the fabric in opposite thrusts to his. He rolled his head back, as if savoring some unknown bliss, as his body nearly smoldered from the sheen of his skin and from the near-hot lights from above. The stage was nearly covered now in green from the patrons below.

 

He flicked the shredded pants like a whip before tossing them behind to join the long forgotten plaid from the start of the show. With his back to the majority of the audience, he gripped the mast above his head, legs spaced, as he gingerly slipped to the floor. His muscles stayed taut, letting the slight ripple of his shoulders roll with fluidity, his thighs anchored and soft. Once down, he moved against the pole, heavy evergreen kissing the cool metal with every lunge, head pointed down, hair coming undone, flipping into his face.

 

He sank even further down, hips flush with the floor, strong arms half propping him up, as he continued to move, each thrust punctuated by lolling of his eyes. Bills stuck to his skin, tiny beads of sweat formed on his chest, and mouthing a moan, he exuded every possible shade of pornography.

 

Jack was lost. He was so lost. His fingers rubbed harshly against the soaked glass, the condensation from the ice long ago pooling into a sloppy puddle just underneath, as he knocked back the nearly untouched drink. The medicinal burn it provided felt good, the welcome sting of heat flooding his belly and making his nose run. It was enough to give him an internal shove, one that told him that yes, this was all good and fun, but really, it was time to go now. He came here to temporarily escape, not to spend his night visually devouring nearly naked men.

 

As he plunked down the cup and brought his legs in, he heard the crowd break into a new kind of noise, shouts and pleas drawing his attention curiously back to the stage, trying to see what was causing such a riot. He watched as the Woodsman hopped down off of the platform, smile saying a thousand things all at once, as he locked eyes looking over in Jack's direction. With the stride of a cat, and a spotlight to follow, he made the distance between the two of them non existent.

 

"What--" was all Jack could mouth before he was face to face with the dancer, eyes widening almost cartoonishly at the human statue in front of him.

 

"Hey boy..." he heard him say, voice forward and deep, "...this seat taken?"

 

Jack shook his head, not really knowing what exactly was going on, or even what the other was talking about. Wasn't this guy in the middle of a set?

 

" _Good_." he said, the word bouncing off of his chest like a form of verbal dominance.

 

The white spotlight flicked once before changing to a lipstick red, casting an almost devious glow on the dancer, adding a ruby sparkle to his already iridescent body, highlighting the scruff dusting his lower jaw. With a smooth transitional fade, the music changed once again, this time switching to something that sounded nouveaux burlesque, heavy, with rhythmic bass and a floating background top note.

 

He looked Jack square in the eye and licked his lips, almost daring the other to object to what he had in mind.

 

Jack shuddered a breath, feeling his limbs go limp, as he stared back. He was in trouble, he knew.

 

Without a word, the dancer brought himself down backwards on Jack's lap, bleeding an intense heat through his clothes, coating his body like a blanket. As the beat began to pick up pace, the Woodsman began to rock from side to side, subtly at first, before letting his entire upper half take control. His back billowed with a wiry strength, each tendril of muscle curling smoothly with every movement.

 

His lower half joined next, punctuating parts of the downbeat with a snap of his hips, backside popping in and out of view, and riding the already tiny pair of shorts even higher, hit after hit, quickly going from showpiece to invasive.

 

Jack felt his whole body surge with color, from the paleness of his useless hands to the roses blooming on his face to the red he was sure that was starting to pool in the most inconvenient of places. He felt warm, so very warm, and not just from the man currently on his legs, ebbing out a furnace-like heat of his own. He glanced around him through the corners of his eyes and saw the entire room staring back at the two of them, watching, with eyes made of focused glass, leering in the near dark. It was like living an exhibitionists dream.

 

The music shifted in pitch, becoming more intense and laden with audible lust as the Woodsman stood, rolling his whole body as he turned to face the other. With a sudden deft strike, both of  his arms came up and around Jack, pinning him to the chair he was sat on, as the dancer planted a leg on either side of the other's lap, straddling the other with heavy muscle.

 

Slowly, the Woodsman began rocking back and forth, his thighs rubbing just above the knees of Jack's pants, red socks catching on the wood from the chair they both occupied, biceps contracting with every motion forward. His eyes fluttered and rolled, a small whisper of air moving just past his barely open mouth, as he leaned his top half back, leading his movement strictly with the bottom half of his body, legs lightly squeezing with each pass.

 

Jack was internally lit on fire. His skin crawled with a burning sensation, as his breathing picked up, his lungs seemingly never getting the air they so desperately wanted, as they heaved in near gasp after near gasp. He could feel his face start to glaze over with a want his body was already asking for, and his clothes were starting to feel like an itchy vice wrapped around everything just below his neck, confining and completely unnecessary. His arms came up on either side of the dancer, almost without consent, ghosting over the undulating tan skin just below his fingers.

 

He caught himself just seconds later, forcing his hands back to their neutral position off to the side. He swallowed, not sure if anyone caught him, stealing half hidden looks around the room. Endless eyes floating in the shadows were all that greeted him back.

 

Jack could feel those eyes on him now, intense and ignited. He could feel his head swimming, between those stares and the dancer on top of him, grinding him and the chair beneath into a shuddering squeaky mess. His eyes slipped closed for a second, trying as best as he could to reign himself in.

 

"Hey boy...take a look at me." He heard, low and full of intent.

 

Jack's eyes snapped open, coming face to face with the dancer again, his simple blue eyes being assaulted with a pair of depthless cognac brown, veiled and full of unsaid promise, riding high on his cheekbones. The Woodsman's lips curled into a deceptive smile once he caught the other's attention, like a snake that just taken it's prey.

 

The dancer inched himself up further on Jack's lap, still moving, still rocking, as his arms came to rest just behind Jack's head. He leaned in towards his neck and breathed out, the small sigh making the fold of skin just below his jaw damp with calefaction, as the sounds from the speakers started to crescendo into a thudding frenzy.

 

"You can touch me if you want." he spoke, almost a whisper, almost a dare, his chest vibrating against Jack's, nearly hollow, but still dripping with excess.

 

He had no time to react before the Woodsman began to ricochet off of his lap, slow and deliberate at first, the ripple of his thighs felt with every bob and bounce. With each pass, Jack felt the dancer move himself that much closer, fraction by fraction, until he was actually sitting in the place where it was becoming hardest not to make a fool of himself. The warm scent of sandalwood and musk radiated off of the Woodsman in heated pulses, only adding to the heady mix of it all.

 

Jack pinned his arms almost painfully at his sides as the dancer moved faster, keeping in time with the music, head pointed skyward. What had once started out as soft contact was quickly degenerating into fevered motion, heat rising, skin slapping against Jack's pants, solid evergreen grazing against Jack's zipper. A sea of eyes on them both.

 

A clash of thumping sounds came to a spiraling climax as the Woodsman came crashing down on Jack's lap, over and over, legs shaking as his movements became rough and imperious. A shrill of notes stopped the song for a brief moment, as the dancer came down one last time, body slick and head curling forward to stop just next to Jack's face. The lights dimmed as the outro music died out, shadows covering the venue in obscurity for a brief moment. While in the darkness, still straddling the other and panting, the Woodsman let out a thick moan right into Jack's ear, the vibrations from his low timbre causing Jack to bite back noises of his own.

 

A peal of cheers and whistles burst out from the room as the soft lights from before came back on, it's familiar dim bar halo returning once again. Jack's eyes squinted a bit before darting around the room, taking note that everyone was looking back at the stage now, as the Woodsman made a courteous bow before walking backstage, bundled clothes in one hand, wad of paper in the other, hips still swinging with swagger. The slight time gap came to Jack like a slap in the face.

 

Moments later, he burst into the bathroom, and locked himself in one of the stalls. He sat on one of the toilets, still not able to catch his breath properly, taking in air like a fish out of water. With a grimace, he sat his head, eyes first, on the heel of one of his palms as his other hand slid down between his legs, squeezing at the pained bulge that refused to go away. He nearly whimpered upon contact.

 

"God _damn_ that man is sexy!" came a voice entering the room, the weight of intoxication still fresh on his lips.

 

"Oh, I _know_!" Came another, sounding softer and a little more sober, "He can come swing that axe of his in  _my_ woods  _anytime_!"

 

Both voices stopped to the left of where Jack sat, the sound of liquid on porcelain coming through a pair of rough giggles. Jack didn't move. He was too focused on trying to fix himself.

 

"D'ja see that guy though? The one who got the dance?" The first voice said.

 

"I did! Poor lamb! He looked a little lost, don'tcha think?" Said the second.

 

" _Pfft_. If only he knew! I've been coming here for almost a _year_ now, and I've never gotten one! Lucky bastard..."

 

"Well, neither have I!" said the second, a little bit sing-song, "Join the club!"

 

A sudden sound of cascading water echoed twice, the harsh sound breaking the conversation for just a moment, as the voices floated just past Jack's stall. Still unmoving, he swallowed the dry lump in his throat that formed as he felt a prickle of embarrassment touch his cheeks. He couldn't tell if it was from the shame from being talked about or knowing that he apparently got some sort of special attention.

 

"He really was _something_ though tonight..." said the first voice, a slight air of longing accenting his words.

 

"Mmmm. True. Never saw him so... _intense_." said the second, mirroring the first, "Wonder if they knew each other..."

 

Jack opened the eye he wasn't leaning on, and stared at the overly painted black and red door in front of him, almost as if he could answer the fading voices behind it. Of course they didn't know each other...he had no idea this place had even existed until tonight, and even if he had, he was sure he wouldn't of made it a priority to come out anytime soon. It was a strip club, after all, a place where seedy people came to do seedy things to each other. And he wasn't the seedy type.

 

He snorted. Of course he wasn't. That's why he was currently holed up in a bathroom stall, desperately trying to forget the dancer on stage tonight, and desperately trying not to imagine him underneath his touch, keening his name.

 

Jack took both hands and palmed his face hard, trying to wash in some of the blood that was supposed to be there. It had to be the alcohol, he told himself. Enough whiskey can make you think some pretty stupid things. Or maybe he was just tired. It was well after midnight by this point, anyway. Either way, he knew he was done for the night. He just needed to find his way home now.

 

Once he was sure he was ok to walk, Jack stepped outside into the night air, letting the cold come down on him like a frigid blanket, muted and subdued. He took in a deep breath, letting the frost prick at his lungs and fill his nose, enjoying the still of everything around him. So peaceful. So quiet.

 

It was then he realized that he still didn't know _where,_ exactly, he was.

 

"Fuck..." he muttered, almost inaudibly. He'd have to go back inside, and try asking around in there, and hope that someone could give decent enough directions. He couldn't help but feel a little stupid.

 

"Hey boy...you alright?" he heard, calling him from behind.

 

Jack froze for a moment before turning around, his chest tightening with a thousand possibilities. He secretly hoped he was hearing things, or at the very least, was hearing someone who happened to have a near identical voice. Though, he knew the chances of that were pretty slim.

 

Under the glow of the flickering neon and leaning against the wall, Jack caught sight of a figure shrouded in a haze of smoke. His dark washed jeans and his black coat hung close to his body, and the more Jack looked, the more he could easily see a patch of pink hair that was flipped over in his framed eyes, matching his new-looking sneakers. Was this who he thought it was? He looked so... _different_.

 

"Ahm..." Jack stuttered out, still unsure of what to say, "...I _think_?"

 

The figure pushed himself off of the wall with a chuckle, cigarette cherry glowing. "You don't _know_?" he asked.

 

"W-well, I mean...I _am_ , but...I'm sorta...lost." Jack said, almost reluctantly.

 

"Is that all?" the figure said, stepping closer.

 

"Yeees?" the words slid out more as an unsure question than a response.

 

"Well, that's easy." the figure said, now standing in front of Jack, "You're at The Ballroom."

 

Jack stood there for a moment as the man became fully visible, the faint light from the streetlights nearby shedding what little cover the night had put on him. As he looked on, the feeling of recognition of  hit him square between the eyes, hard. Despite the differences in appearance, there was no mistaking it now. This was most _definitely_ the Woodsman.

 

"I-I know _that_..." he said, eyes skimming his surroundings, thoughts suddenly drowning, "...but, this _area_. This _street_ , even..."

 

The dancer smirked, looking Jack square in the face, even though his attention was currently anywhere else than what was in front of him. "You seem nervous."

 

"N-no! I'm fine, really!" Jack lied, still not making eye contact, "Just...I'd like ta get home, 'an--"

 

"I see." he said, not bothering with the explanation. He flicked the cigarette in his hand as punctuation.

 

Jack could feel his face start to color once more, in various shades of frustration and embarrassment. He knew he was being a little rude, but really, he couldn't help it. He didn't even _know_ the man in front of him, but he knew just what he would like to do to him, if given the chance. Part of him knew that it was in the dancer's job to sell a fantasy, to sell flashing images of sex and desire, and that he was probably no different than anyone else who came here, night after night. But part of him couldn't quite swallow everything that had just happened not too long ago.

 

Maybe it was because of what he heard in the bathroom. Maybe it was from the intense act itself. Or maybe he just needed to screw his head on right for once this night and act like a normal human being.

 

With a careful effort, Jack slid his eyes over to the Woodsman's face, before slowly dragging them up to meet those same eyes he remembered from before. His jaw wobbled once before he was able to say anything.

 

"I...really am lost. I was out, not payin' any mind ta where I was goin', and...I saw these guys comin' up from around the corner over there. I...I actually came inside to avoid trouble, 'an..." Jack trailed off, jaw wavering once again.

 

The Woodsman took a long drag from his cigarette, nodding softly.

 

"La Croix." he said, blowing some of the smoke to the side.

 

"What?" Jack asked, not understanding.

 

"The name of the street you're on. La Croix. It intersects with Knights Boulevard if you follow it down enough."

 

Jack let the words settle in his mind before processing them. He knew both streets, and knew where about they sat in the grid of the neighborhood in his memory. And the more he thought about it, the more he started to feel absolutely dense.

 

"Edgewater Circle is only six blocks away from here, isn't it?" Jack asked flatly.

 

"Mmmn."

 

Jack turned his head, and bit back another curse, wry smile bending his face. "Well, then."

 

A moment of silence passed between the two, as a slow whistle of wind weaved its way up and around them. Jack huffed into it, trying to let the fact that he could of been home this whole time fall off his shoulders like a bad memory.

 

"It's not _so_ bad, is it?" The Woodsman said, tossing the butt between his fingers carelessly into the road just next to them, "I mean, you had a good time tonight, right?" he asked, a grin just on the tips of his words,

 

"I could _feel_ it."

 

Jack chewed his bottom lip, letting his head fall. His heart beat a few times out of rhythm.

 

"S-sorry..." was all he could muster.

 

"Don't be. It's what I wanted." the dancer said, deep and commanding, eyes still pinning the other where he stood, "You should come see me Saturday night. I get to do my maple syrup act then."

 

Jack had no idea what, exactly, he had meant, but the sudden image of the man in front of him nearly naked, and covered in a warm sticky substance sent a small thrill down Jack's spine. He took in a shaky breath and tried not to let his imagination take that any further, as hard as that was.

 

"It's Mark, by the way." he said, brushing a few stray hairs out of his face, "I don't normally tell people that."

 

"Jack." he said, still trying to keep his composure.

 

"Will I see you Saturday, _Jack_?" he said, low voice curling over the other's name.

 

He paused, unsure of what to say. Was he inviting him there, or was he asking him to _be_ there? He felt his fingers curl inside their pockets as he thought about it. Sure, he had a job to do, but the idea of Mark actually  _wanting_ him there bounced around in his mind like one of those small rubber balls. Maybe he was kidding himself, that he was somehow special, and that somehow this ideal of a man wanted someone like _him_ to be there, but really, was that so bad? He had never even reached into his pocket the whole time he was on stage, yet, the offer was being made...

 

Jack felt his chest tingle with anticipation. And with a smile, he nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> Name of this work comes from a Garbage song with the same title. It actually served as a catalyst for a chunk of what I wrote, as well as the inspiration for the initial idea. Go listen. :)
> 
> Also, any criticism of this is welcome. Please let me know if I should pursue ideas like this again in the future.


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